Chapter 77: Let Me Make a Phone Call

The inspector squad leader stood beside the car door, watching him.

The eyes set deep into that skull-like face had tiny pupils, completely devoid of expression.

"Richard Williams?"

"You are..."

"The inspector squad leader of the Briston Branch Office. You can call me Wentworth."

"Around 10:40 this morning, an abnormal public incident occurred near a pie stall on Central Avenue."

Wentworth slipped his hands into his uniform pockets.

"Pedestrians within a small area lost their sense of balance simultaneously. The effect lasted roughly three to five minutes."

"Patrol officers from the North District Police Precinct were the first to arrive. They made an initial determination of mass hysteria and transferred the case to the health department."

"We are the health department."

Richard did not move, but his hand unconsciously tightened around the crowbar in his trouser pocket.

"What ordinary patrol officers saw was 'mass hysteria.'"

Wentworth continued in an unhurried tone. "But what we saw was different."

"The residual traces of ether disturbance at the scene hadn't fully dissipated. The dispersion pattern was a typical unshielded release with a decay radius of about six to seven meters, perfectly matching the characteristics of the Fog Wall Spell."

"It was just applied far too crudely."

His lips twitched as he said this, but he held back a smile.

"We also checked the scene with your two street thugs. Both are repeat offenders. When the patrol officers hauled them away, a few eyewitnesses still managed to piece together a story about 'two thugs attacking a single victim from the front and back.'"

"Therefore, the General Administration won't pursue the matter of self-defense. You don't need to worry about that."

He took a hand from his pocket and showed Richard a small bronze badge. It was engraved with a crest of crossed gears and thorns.

This was the internal insignia of the Imperial Public Health Inspection General Administration.

"But according to regulations," Wentworth said, twirling the bronze badge in his hand before putting it away.

"Anyone using supernatural means in a public setting, thereby risking the leak of information regarding the veil—regardless of their motives—must first be taken into custody by the local Branch Office before being transferred to higher authorities for judgment."

"Or..." He shifted his tone.

"You could register your name with us and pay a fine. Today's incident won't enter the patrol system or the General Administration's files. The Branch Office will handle it entirely internally."

"Then what is it you want?" Richard asked.

"The Branch Office occasionally has a few jobs," Wentworth said.

"Once you become a Practitioner in the future, you will help the Branch Office with a few minor tasks each year. That is what we want."

Richard generally understood the situation.

But there was no way he could agree to it immediately.

Richard took his hand out of his pocket. "Can I make a phone call first?"

Wentworth looked somewhat surprised. "Who are you calling?"

"My grandfather, Gerard Ashford."

The man's expression shifted at the name. "Oh? You're a relative of Mr. Gerard?"

"Yes."

He said nothing more, seemingly pondering something.

"So you hail from the Ashford Family. No wonder you struck so ruthlessly."

Wentworth laughed, and for the first time, that skull-like face showed a semblance of life.

"Coming from a Hunter family, yet walking the path of a Scholar yourself. If I recall correctly, hasn't someone in your family already done exactly that?"

The two children who had been digging through an anthill in the alley had vanished at some point.

They had likely been scared off by the van painted with "Health Inspection Squad."

In Briston, any official vehicle parking outside your door was never good news.

"Go make your call," Wentworth said, nodding. "There happens to be a public phone booth right at the entrance to the alley."

...

Most of the red paint on the public phone booth had peeled away. The glass on the door had a crack that had been taped over.

Richard fished a few copper coins from his pocket, dropped them into the slot, picked up the receiver, and turned the rotary dial seven times.

Beep... beep... beep... After three long rings, the call connected.

"Who is calling?" the butler's voice asked at a steady pace.

"Richard Williams. I'm looking for my grandfather."

"Please wait a moment, Young Master."

About half a minute passed.

"Richard," the old man's voice came through. "Looking for me so soon. Has something happened?"

Richard summarized the incident as concisely as possible.

The other end of the line went quiet for a long moment.

Gerard sighed.

"What is it?" Richard felt a spike of tension. Had he really caused too massive a mess this time?

"Did you know that savings banks can arrange for dedicated personnel to deliver large cash withdrawals?"

"...What?"

"You take your identity credentials and passbook to the counter, fill out a delivery form, and pay a five-shilling delivery fee. The very next day, a security guard brings the cash to your door for a face-to-face count and sign-off."

Richard's hand stiffened around the receiver.

"Think about it. With so much money moving in and out of the bank every day, they can't possibly have every customer wandering the streets with large sums of cash in their pockets. There are notices about the delivery service pasted on the wall right by the counter. Didn't you see them?"

He really hadn't seen them.

After entering the savings bank, he had simply waited in line, handed over his passbook when it was his turn, made the withdrawal, and left with the envelope.

He had paid no attention at all to what notices were pasted on the walls.

"I didn't notice."

"Mhm, didn't notice," Gerard repeated, not sounding particularly surprised.

"At your age, it's perfectly normal to be nervous when handling so much cash for the first time," he said.

"Just remember it for next time. If a delivery fee needs to be paid, pay it."

"I'll remember."

"As for the matter with those two thugs, you handled that decently enough," Gerard said.

Richard was a little surprised.

He had braced himself for a scolding from his grandfather and had even mentally prepared a few excuses in his defense.

But the old man on the other end of the line had actually offered his approval.

"Taking down two grown men barehanded, and even having the sense to wipe the onlookers' memories while you were at it. The only problem was that the Fog Wall Spell you cast afterward spun out of control and caused a public disturbance."

"Maintaining the secrecy of the veil is the first public rule for any Newcomer."

Richard frowned. Mr. Hutton had only mentioned that exposing ordinary people to occult knowledge would cause mental pollution.

But he had never said that mystical means couldn't be displayed in broad daylight.

Gerard didn't dwell on the issue.

"The person who taught you most likely treated the Fog Wall Spell as a minor Spell Formula meant for confined spaces. That is its original intended use."

"So right now..." Richard asked tentatively.

The old man gave a soft cough.

"Is that inspector squad leader still waiting outside?"

"Hand the phone over to him. Let me speak with him."

Richard pushed open the booth door and gestured to Wentworth, who was standing a few steps away.

Wentworth walked over, took the receiver, and pressed it to his ear.

Richard couldn't hear the call; he could only watch Wentworth's face.

From beginning to end, that skull-like face maintained the exact same expression—listening intently, never interrupting.

After about two minutes, Wentworth handed the receiver back.

"Your grandfather has a few more words for you."

Richard pressed the receiver to his ear once more.

"Richard."

"I'm here."

"I've handled this matter for you." Gerard's tone returned to its calm equilibrium.

"Knowing to call me when trouble arises—that single decision saved both of us a lot of effort."